The Underwater Graveyard
by SocioSA
Summary: The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit is called in to assist Miami-Metro in capturing the infamous Bay Harbor Butcher. Little do they know how close he really is.
1. Chapter 1

Jennifer Jareau wanted bubblegum flavoured ice-cream. More precisely, the crazy-pregnant-craving-controlling part of her brain wanted bubblegum flavoured ice-cream.

At least with her belly the size it was now, she could sit the container on it.

She felt her dishevelled blonde hair bounce on her shoulders as she plopped her large body onto the couch. Will was already asleep in the bedroom, early for him. Normally she would have joined him despite the hour as she preferred sleep on a night off, but she couldn't explain her hyperactivity. She felt mentally coiled, like a snake, waiting to strike.

Maybe the crazy-pregnant-craving-controlling part of her brain wasn't the only thing that was off. The ice-cream was cool on her tongue as she devoured it, watching the news with faint interest in the dim light. Suddenly, the pixels on the screen formed a most unlikely image. The report was urgent, breaking news it said. She dropped the cold metal spoon into the container as she listened with newly-found rapt attention to the screen. Minutes later, the phone rang throughout the house.

She already knew who it was.

* * *

"What the hell kind of case would make Hotch call up a meeting this late?" Derek Morgan whined. The African-American was definitely the one with the busiest social life, and henceforth normally seemed to mind the most when sudden meetings occurred. He sighed in exasperation, observing each of his co-workers in turn.

Reid was slouched and rubbing his neck – nervous. Rossi was alternating between watching the door then the wall clock – impatient. Emily was drumming her manicured fingernails across the conference room table with lightning speed, looking as rigid as their resident Unit Chief. Who was still absent.

He knew they could probably tell he was just attempting to cover up his own anxiety. If Hotch called them in at night, the case was always bad.

The conference room door opened with a barely audible _whoosh_. In came Aaron Hotchner, looking like an unfortunate mass of storm clouds with JJ at the rear.

"Evening, everyone," Hotch voiced, donned in his usual impeccable dark suit. JJ marched straight up to the TV and flipped the on switch, face looking grim. It was clear the pair had been talking beforehand. She placed folders around them as the screen changed to a scene donned in daylight with people in forensics jackets. "There is a… situation in Miami." Hotch continued, appearing as if he didn't quite know how to say the words despite his usual level of public speaking skills. The television quickly stated what he didn't have a chance to.

"_Two treasure hunter hunters made a ghastly discovery today when they stumbled on what appeared to be an underwater graveyard in a crevice off the coast of Miami."_

It was a segment of a news report. The camera zoomed in to show over a dozen sealed plastic bags in a fenced off area with lab tech and police milling around them.

"_The butchered bodies were submerged inside these heavy-duty garbage bags. Authorities have located at least thirty bags so far, but around-the-clock salvage efforts are still under way. The bags were discovered at approximately-"_

"Thirty bags?" Morgan gasped.

"So far," Hotch asserted. The TV turned black once again. "Now, as of yet we don't have much to go on, only that it appears that Miami has a new serial killer." The team flipped open the FBI folders almost in unison to view the limited information discovered.

"Four confirmed victims…" Reid murmured, crossing his legs and sifting through the photos and text.

"Now they're up to five," JJ stated.

"Wait, wait, wait. Two serial killers in a year?" Rossi asked incredulously. "What if this is just the Ice-Truck Killer's old dumping grounds?"

"Different victimology," Reid conveyed. "Brian Moser killed prostitutes, drained them of their blood, froze them and cut them into pieces."

"These victims look all over the place," Emily continued in a soft voice, analysing the pictures of the recovered body parts. "Male, female, black, white, Asian, young, old; it looks like these murders are random."

"And spaced out quite a bit," Reid added. "All the body parts are at varying stages of decomposition. The bags may have preserved them, so we won't know until we know who they are."

"There's gotta be a pattern here somewhere," Morgan asserted. "Any ID's on the bodies yet?"

"No," Hotch answered. "Miami-Metro PD has already come forward and asked for our assistance on this case. We leave tomorrow, bright and early. We'll be working up our profile on the jet."

"Hotch…" Morgan started, a slight tremor of trepidation in his voice, "We're looking at at least a dozen victims here. How long has this guy been out there killing innocent people?"

"Years," Rossi answered solemnly.

* * *

"_Years,"_ Rossi's voiced echoed in Emily's head as the plane rumbled, departing solid ground. The UnSub had to have been killing for years.

"Who knows how many other bodies are out there," she felt the words come out of her mouth as her team poured over the new evidence that had appeared in the few short hours spent achieving unconsciousness. Or maybe just attempting to.

They'd dealt with higher body counts before. They'd dealt with crueller monsters. But for some reason she felt that this one was different.

"Ten confirmed," Hotch announced.

"Poor Miami," Morgan voiced. "Get rid of one serial killer and just when you start to feel safe again you find out another's been wrecking havoc for years."

"Years," Emily spoke. "How could he have been doing this behind the police's backs for so long? How could so many people go missing and no one connect it until the bodies were found?"

"He knew these people wouldn't be missed." Hotch professed. "He didn't do this for fame or attention, He disposed of them conveniently and while avoiding human contact. He kills because he needs to."

"He covered his tracks," Rossi quipped. "No DNA evidence on the bodies, nothing."

"This is interesting," Reid interrupted. He had situated himself on the long chair after the plane lifted off, long legs sprawled. "On the bodies with flesh still attached, he'd cut a small gash on each of the victims cheeks, usually on one specific side."

"Torture?" JJ suggested, inhaling a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

"No," Morgan countered. "Each victim's COD is a stab wound to the chest. All dismembering was done post-mortem."

"It's like he kills because he has to." Rossi observed.

"Or maybe the dismembering is the fun part," Morgan countered.

"Cuts the cheek ante-mortem, fatal stab wound to the chest, then dismemberment." Reid summarised. "Why bother with the cheek?" The group was silent for several moments, all pondering.

"Blood's a trophy," Emily construed.

Reid and Morgan's eyes darted back to the photos in the body bags, while Rossi and Hotch glanced at her in surprise. JJ's eyebrows furrowed.

"So what do we have on a profile, guys?" Reid queried.

"Essentially nothing," Hotch answered, switching his gaze to their younger profiler and holder of three PhD's. "We need to ID these victims, and fast."

Emily couldn't agree more.


	2. Chapter 2

Apologies if this chapter seems scattered; I only ever seem to get motivation to write these things in the dead of night. And after several failed drafts, I give up.

DISCLAIMER: All characters recognisable belong to their respective owners, whoever they are. I gain no profit from this endeavour.

* * *

The team arrived to Miami-Metro early the following morning. Captain Thomas Matthews met them as soon as they passed security; he was a wrinkled, grey man donned in a dark suit.

"You must be Agent Hotchner," he spoke in a rushed manner, shaking hands with their Unit Chief. Hotch nodded, and introduced them all in turn.

"This is Senior SSA David Rossi, SSA's Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan," Morgan shook the man's hand stiffly, "Dr. Spencer Reid," Reid performed his usual shy wave while holding a box of folders, "and our Communications Liaison Jenifer Jareau." The Captain eyed them quickly.

"Apologies, we weren't expecting you all until tomorrow," the man said, turning almost flustered. "I'll call my people in right now. They're just at East Kendall, won't take more than ten minutes. I'll show you all to the conference room where you can set up."

The conference room was a bit smaller than their own back at Quantico. Instead of a round table, a few rectangular desks were placed throughout the room and a stack of chairs was hidden in a corner for meetings. Three large bare whiteboards were placed in front. The room was left of the elevator past the homicide department, whose inhabitants peered out curiously at them as they marched past.

Reid and JJ immediately set to placing the ten confirmed victims out on the whiteboards as the captain left with one ear attached to his phone.

"The media's already calling this guy the 'Bay Harbour Butcher'," Morgan spoke. "This is gonna be one hell of a case with journalists crawling all over it like this."

"Agreed," Emily said, sifting through a box of additional files a policeman had already placed on a desk before their arrival, "after the Ice-Truck Killer, they've turned into full frenzy mode. This case is going to be a media storm."

"Just what we need," Rossi remarked. Moments later Hotch's pocket buzzed and he strode outside to answer it as well.

"What do you reckon that's about?" JJ queried, peering at both Hotch and the captain's retreating backs as she tacked a picture of a torso and leg to a board.

"We're getting a tent morgue." Rossi answered.

"A what?"

* * *

By the time Miami Metro's lieutenant arrived, the team had assembled the victims onto the white boards, labelled them and added notes. Hotch had joined them again and the captain now hovered outside the door with his phone.

"You're all rather efficient," she stated. "Esmee Pascal," the woman stretched her lips into a smile as she shook each of their hands in turn. "We'd just like to say that you and your team have our complete co-operation in this case. If you need anything, you have access to all our resources and people."

"Thank you," Hotch replied, voice flat. "We'd like to set up a conference with anyone that could be helpful on this case. Detectives, officers, forensics-"

"Right away sir," she articulated, rushing away to round up said people. As she left, Captain Matthews slid though the glass door.

"Any idea on who our killer is?" He asked.

"There hasn't been any genetic match on any of the confirmed victim's DNA." Reid answered, perching himself on the edge of a desk. "So it's unlikely the unidentified body parts are related either. These victims may be random but they may also share a common theme. Once forensics ID the bodies any patterns will emerge from there."

"And patterns will lead to our UnSub," Hotch finished for him.

* * *

"Excuse me, Captain Matthews. Uh… can you point me to where the um… bathroom is?"

"Other end of the hall."

"…Thanks."

Reid felt awkward as he stepped out of the men's room. A few Miami-Metro personnel milled around him as he weaved his way back to the opposite end of the hall. It seemed the officers sent away to investigate a separate crime scene had returned. Two men stepped out of the elevator and Reid paused to let them pass.

"No, I'm telling you, Dex. The chicks dig it when you sneak a finger up the-"

"That's nice, Vince." Reid suddenly felt a large figure ram into him from behind. It took his thin body all it had to not send him sprawling to the ground.

"Watch where you're goin', kid." A deep, rude voice cut through. A dark-skinned, muscular man pushed past Reid and the two men, heading for the conference room.

"Wow." Lipped the first speaker, a bald Japanese man. "What's grinding his gears today?"

"Hey, you all right man?" The second speaker asked, turning his eyes to Reid.

"Yeah, thanks." Reid puffed, collecting his bearings.

"That guy's a real dick," the Japanese man sneered. "Always had it out for us lab geeks. I've never seen you before, which department do you work in?"

"Hey, guys! That FBI guy Hotchner is here, he's got a fuckin' entourage." A brunette woman stuck her head though the doors of the homicide department, eyes locking momentarily with Reid before turning to the two men. Reid felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach he was certain had nothing to do with the muscled man. "We got conference room in two minutes." She closed the door behind her, the two men following. The second man gave him a brief glance before joining his friend though the door.

As Reid entered the conference room again he couldn't quite shake the strange, anxious yet lifted feeling Debra Morgan had given him.

* * *

A large assembly of police personnel formed in front of the BAU team. They'd run out of room for chairs and the remaining half had stood in a rough semi-circle around their seated co-workers. Morgan recognised only one; a slim, beautiful woman situated herself in between a man in an ugly Hawaiian shirt and a short Asian lab tech. Debra Morgan, the 'Ice Princess', the press cruelly named her. When watching the Ice-Truck Killer case unfold he felt himself feel pity for the officer engaged to the serial killer and displayed all over the television for the world to see. Today, she looked much different to the emotional wreck bombarded by cameras as she was attempting to leave the hospital. She had a tight, emotionless expression on her face as she surveyed the room.

"Hey, Dexter!" She called as a man entered, arm waving.

"Alright," Captain Matthews spoke loudly, single-handedly silencing the crowd. "The Bay Harbour Butcher case is now a Miami-Metro case, and it is shaping up to be the biggest one in our history. These people here are part of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, and one of the best teams the FBI has to offer."

He motioned to the group of profilers, and the crowd turned their gaze to the group with mixed expressions of admiration, trepidation and for some, even dislike. Not uncommon in their line of work. Morgan even spotted a muscular man with a moustache give Reid a wide-eyed look. "Now," the Captain continued, "this will _not_ be a jurisdictional circle-jerk. This will be a shining example of two agencies working together for the public good." A few members of the crowd shifted slightly as the Captain motioned to Hotch to speak. Hotch spoke a few polite words before introducing the team, then cut straight to business.

"As you should all know, yesterday some divers discovered a large number of body parts near the coastline. Your superiors have requested the FBI's assistance in this case and we plan to work alongside the Miami-Metro police department to help catch this killer. So far, the victim count has risen to ten, and is expected to rise to at least twelve. No victims have yet been identified, but forensics is working around the clock and a field morgue is expected to be placed outside within two days to help cope with the overflow."

"What we do know for sure is that this is _not_ the work of the Ice-Truck Killer," Rossi continued for him, motioning towards the bodies displayed on the white boards. "Gender, COD, methods of dissection – these things all differ from Brian Moser's MO. There is simply no evidence to prove that this is the ITK's work, therefore we must assume we're looking at a new serial killer altogether." At the mention of Brian Moser, Debra Morgan tensed up as one of her co-workers looked worriedly at her. As Rossi continued, the man seemed to tense up in the same fashion as Debra Morgan, and quickly departed the room. Morgan watched him leave curiously.

"And we must stress again the importance that the details of this case not be leaked to the media." JJ's gentle voice carried across the crowd as they departed the conference room. Captain Matthews stayed behind to talk to Hotch. As the last one left and the door swung shut, Morgan saw his team all sag a little, minus Hotch, who remained as stoic as ever. Hotch exchanged a few words with the Captain, before excusing himself to make another phone call just outside the door.

"Hotch doesn't usually put together task forces…" Reid murmured as he looked out the door at the Miami-Metro employees, shrinking step by step in the distance.

"This isn't our usual case," Rossi answered. "Miami-Metro could provide information vital to capturing this guy, it's best we put together a formal task force this time."

"Yeah, but who do we pick?" Emily joined Reid, gazing after Miami's finest. Hotch joined the group again, pressing a button on his phone.

"I'm having Garcia doing a background check on potential task force members," he said.

"You're profiling my employees?" The captain asked incredulously.

"It's his way of getting to know people better," Rossi voiced with a hint of humour.

"We need to know who's going to be the biggest help to us." Hotch responded.

The captain and JJ left to discuss the media involvement and to let the profilers 'do their thing' after a short-lived argument with Hotch on his employees' privacy. Hotch's phone buzzed once again and he set it in the middle of a table on speaker. The profilers set themselves around it as Garcia's cheery voice emitted.

"Hello, my honeys! So, I looked into Miami-Metro like you said, and we got a set of siblings, a few sets of cousins, a _lot_ of Cubans…"

"Garcia," Hotch said sternly.

"Right! Well, Sergeant Doakes' got a bunch of excessive-force citations, totally not a team player; Detective Batista's squeaky clean, unless you count those parking tickets and a drunk and disorderly. Geeze, you'd think a cop would know better… Detective Ramos…"

The list dragged on and on, Hotch occasionally scribbling something down on a notepad and every now and then one of them would comment something.

"We need forensic help," Hotch spoke after she'd finished. "Who's the most qualified?" Garcia 'umm-ed' through the phone and a furry of noise that sounded like keys sounded for a few seconds, and then cut off.

"We got two, my furry friends. Vince Masuka and Dexter Morgan- ooh, he's Debra Morgan's brother! I shall dub him Morgan the Third!" Morgan laughed. "Masuka's like, a genius, but he's got a few sexual harassment warnings, ew. The Third Morgan's got like, _a-ma-zing_ results in his university courses and specialises in blood spatter. And he's adopted. I don't know if that helps much, though."

"Thanks Garcia, we can work with both of them." Hotch hung up. He handed the notepad to Morgan. "Give these names to the captain to look at. Then I want all of you to go to the morgue, try and find something to link these victims that the police missed. I'll stay here."

Morgan left the room with a frown, wondering when he'd become Errand Boy.


End file.
